a celebration
Last night, we had good intentions: yoga, reading our next Anxious Generation chapter, early bedtime. And the sun hadn’t set when we lounged on the deck and opened a bottle of Chenin blanc. The chickens were still scratching in the backyard, the shadows were long but we could see each other in the fading light. I don’t know what we talked about or how long we talked. I don’t know how, after nearly twelve years of marriage, we haven’t run out of things to talk about. We have weekly date nights. We text during the day, at least a little. But if we come together, there is rarely silence.
I like that about us.
The sun disappeared and still we sat, in near darkness, not even bothering to get up and flick on the deck light. And maybe we would have sat there forever, forgetting our book and our yoga, if it weren’t for the screams erupting inside. Our daughter, up after a nightmare (probably our fault for letting her watch the live-action Jungle Book movie earlier).
And instead of getting annoyed with her (or with me, for suggesting the movie), he poured her a little sherry glass of diluted grape juice, brought her into bed, and turned on the Great British Baking Show. There we snuggled, at ten pm, plans forgotten.
Timothy works hard and plays hard. He listens to our children as well as he speaks into them. He calls them to a high standard, but he affirms, encourages, and cheers. He is deeply invested in our kids, but not for selfish gain. He’s not living vicariously through them. He isn’t needing anything from them. He is invested in them for them. My children not only have a father who loves them, attends to them, and plays with them, they have a dad who has a vision for who they will be as individuals and who they will be in our family. They have a dad who considers what it looks like, today, in this moment of frustration or interruption or disobedience, to parent well. And they also have a dad who is constantly looking forward and planning for their future.
I don’t know how I managed to marry a man who is all of these things: present yet visionary, playful yet hardworking, investing yet not needing. Because when I married him, he was a boy, and now this is the man he has become. I did not foretell this outcome. And here it is anyway: gift upon gift, grace upon grace.
Today, I want to celebrate the man who taught my kids how to ride a bike and is teaching them how to swim. Who calls them to the breakfast table to read from the book of Romans and recite their catechism. Who plays Chess and Sorry and Legos with our son and plays the mermaid-fairy-princess game with our daughter. Who asks them so many good questions that now they’ve begun to return the favor: how was your day, Dad? Did anything good happen to you today? How did your call at work go, Dad? Who pours a glass of grape juice and cuddles when the nightmares won’t go away. Who blesses them, prays for them, laughs with them, listens to them.
I don’t want to celebrate Timothy simply because he is a dad. I want to celebrate him because he has hurled himself into becoming the best dad for the right reasons. The best dad in the quiet, unnoticed, unremarkable, undocumented moments. The best dad for the two little people he is shepherding so well.
Happy Father’s Day, babe. You really are incredible.
